


Forever Lost

by Umi (umichii)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-31
Updated: 2009-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umichii/pseuds/Umi
Summary: The only reason he followed that stupid foreigner was because of the promise of a good fight and the idiot’s bloody demise. But how can he bite Cavallone to death, when he can’t even deal with his own insecurities?
Relationships: Dino/Hibari Kyouya
Kudos: 1





	Forever Lost

Every point he turned to, the sight was the same: soft, green grasses, dried twigs and leaves, thick, old trunks with sunlight streaming down from the canopies above, sparing him some light within the dense forest that stupid herbivore had dragged him into. He’d forgotten why. All he’d remembered was the promise of a good fight and that idiot’s bloody demise.

He turned and turned some more, looking for that familiar speck of yellow amidst the green and brown around him.

There, he spotted his most trusted companion. Lifting a finger, he let Hibird perch homely, the little bird twitching a wing as if trying to get something off.

Twigs snapped behind him, to the right. A slip of steel down his arms then—

“Ah, Kyoya! There you are!”

He felt sinewy leather forcing his steel tonfa from hitting skin and flesh. He could feel the power _behind_ it, and that sparked more than just excitement in his blood.

“I’ll bite you to death, _herbivore_.” Hibari Kyoya growled, baring his fangs. The stupid Cavallone herbivore just smiled a bright, sunny smile, as if that could appease his blood thirst.

“Now, now, Kyoya.”

Just because it wasn’t easy to inflict bodily _death_ on this idiot didn’t mean he’s exempted from being a herbivore. He crowds around herbivores, and crowding warrants him enough reason to be a herbivore. Thus, he’s a _herbivore_.

He jerked back the arm being held back before throwing the other one against the Cavallone’s side. The grunt he received was satisfactory enough. He’s going to _bite_ this idiot to death right _now_ —

He gasped as something thick and cold wrapped around his neck, pulling and tugging, and he couldn’t breathe properly at all, not when his windpipe was being strangled like this. A pair of steel hit the earthy ground and the dried leaves, and he felt a bit of apprehension when he couldn’t feel his arms’ extensions.

“Now am I still a herbivore, Kyoya?” That stupid Cavallone mockingly asked him. He gasped again when the hold on his neck tightened. It was too tight to be playful, too hard to be careful. He could see specks of white behind his eyes, and he briefly wondered if _this_ is the real Dino Cavallone. That twisted smirk, that dark flickering of shadows in his usually bright eyes; _this_ must be who Dino Cavallone really is.

His lips twisted into a feral grin despite the strangling hold. He could feel it now, that rising expectation for something better than their everyday child’s play. The eagle hides its talon; if Dino Cavallone thought he’s the only one who could hide his talons, then he’s wrong.

“I’ll _bite_ you to death, Cavallone.”

The whip around his neck loosened before it retreated into a coil hanging around its master’s hand. Without letting himself cough at the release, Kyoya stilled his stance, willing to continue bare-hand.

“Let’s call it a day, Kyoya. I’m tired.”

“Shut up, Cavallone.”

He’s going to prove he’s wrong. He’s definitely _wrong_. 

*

When he was five years old, he believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters as his mother told him stories after stories every night before he went to bed.

They lived in a traditional Japanese house, a place he could call home. His mother was like any traditional housewife, and truth to be told, he preferred it that way. As for his father, he didn’t know, and he liked this even more. He couldn’t remember much about him, could even barely remember his face. But his mother would always tell him he looked his father so very much.

Later on in life, he wouldn’t give much of a damn about that man, and knew he never would. That man who left them was a herbivore, and Hibari Kyoya didn’t care about herbivores.

Hot bullets of water hit his forehead as he stared blindly at the showerhead. Hibird was singing his beloved Namimori school anthem for the seventh time, and listening to the avian voice beyond the thundering sound of the shower almost soothed the unknown unease stretching all over his chest. He couldn’t place the feeling at all.

But no matter; it’s just a feeling, and Hibari Kyoya doesn’t meddle long with feelings. Feelings are for the weak, just like crowding, and he’s not weak.

As the water went down the drain, he toweled himself dry; glad for once that he’d gotten the dried blood and grime off. He loved the feel of fresh, warm blood, (and the taste of it, undoubtedly) but dried blood caking on his skin was another story. Of all things he hated, being dirty was one of them. He just _hated_ it, hated the feel of something foreign crawling on his skin like a trail of marching ants.

Wearing only his pajamas, he stepped out of the bathroom, Hibird fluttering behind him as he toweled his hair dry. The canary flew to nest on a pillow, brushing its round, yellow head on tiny wings. But his eyes pulled away from the bird immediately, trained on the moronic blonde standing in his room, those broad shoulders on its usual lazy slouch. A sudden rise of burning anger welled up inside him, hands twitching to curl into fists and punch that silly grin away.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, letting his voice into a sharp bark, bare feet inching forward. He could already imagine the number of ways he could wipe that wretched quirked lips off that damnable sun-tanned face.

The stupid idiot grinned wider, if that was even possible, and scratched the back of his neck, a neck Kyoya would gladly break.

“Sharing the same room can build the bond between a tutor and his student, Kyoya.”

_Kill, kill, kill,_ Kyoya kept on chanting to himself as he purposely ignore the words without losing the illusion of the attention Cavallone thought he had. He must rid of this particular specie off the face of the earth. _That_ , then, will be his contribution to the world.

That Cavallone bastard must have misunderstood him when he reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Cavallone’s ungodly cheerful eyes widened as that large rough hand closed around his fist, almost _gently_.

Kyoya flinched when he realized that damnable face was too close, strands of golden hair tickling his cheeks. The idiot must have said something else too, something he wasn’t meant to hear or something he’d rather not hear, because his arm had automatically swung and pale knuckles hit bony jaws. And he realized too late he had actually been clenching his fists, tight enough to turn already pale knuckles paler during all those very short seconds of staring too deep into Cavallone’s eyes.

“Get the hell out of _my room_.”

He had punctuated each word with a punch. He didn’t care anymore if those punches did any damage or if they actually did any damage. He was too angry with himself, too furious with this damn bastard, and he became angrier when he realized he didn’t even know why he had been so angry. Why? Why had he gotten so riled up he had attacked without another thought?

One way or another, he’d managed to make Cavallone leave but not without tossing him out. Cavallone had his eyes narrowed at him, a frown marring that otherwise stupid face, and for once, Kyoya actually asked himself just what the hell he was doing. Then he realized he shouldn’t really be asking himself that, and that made him even angrier still that he slammed the door right on stupid Cavallone’s face. He hoped he broke a nose.

Dino Cavallone was just a herbivore who always acted as if he’s glorious enough that Hibari Kyoya _had_ to give a shit for him. There was no reason why he should bother about him. So why is he caring now? Why was he wondering about Dino’s frown? Why was he even compelled to turn around and open the door? 

He shouldn’t be.

He really shouldn’t.

*

He greeted the morning with a sharp glare that would always set the wayward Namimori students running for cover. But the sun wasn’t like those herbivorous crowds. The sun is an impeccable being, always burning high aloft in the sky, always so far from reach and forever laughing at his folly of daring to freeze it over with just a pair of murderous eyes.

“ _Hibari_! _Hibari_!”

His eyes wandered to the ball of yellow fluff floating around him, crying out his name in its high-pitch voice he couldn’t help but find adorable. Then slowly, the bird came to rest on his head, tiny beak picking on soft, black strands of hair with its beak. Faintly, he could feel his scalp being scratched.

“Stop that.” He poked the bird atop his head, as if pushing it off. But his winged incarnate wouldn’t budge, its voice only rising with tenacity.

He nearly grabbed the bird roughly by the tail-feathers, but forced his hand back, clutching the blanket instead.

When he was six, he had a pet; a cute, little canary who’d always sing the Happy Birthday song to him every morning. Then one day, when he had come back from school, just as he had memorized the school anthem to teach to his bird, he couldn’t find his little pet. His heart had made a great jump, breath coming in short as something he yet had to name took hold of him. He had searched all over the house, high and low, yet he couldn’t find it. He had to have his mother help him look for his poor, lost friend. Despite the cries he swallowed and the tears he bravely held back, he just _couldn’t_ find it. Worry had risen up his throat when he found a small, yellow feather after another with each step he took towards his room then out of it through a window, and right _there_ , on that spot next to the old peach tree trunk, he never thought a six year-old could feel so much rage in such a short time.

He had found his only friend stuffed inside the mouth of a tailed carnivore, feathers strewn all over the garden with scattered blots of red.

He had forgotten what happened afterwards other than the very first time he had craved to draw blood, the very first time he had wished so much harm onto another, the very first time he’d wanted to _kill_. Despite the bloody scratches the feline had left on his body and face and arms, no matter the sudden shrill scream from his mother, he had never felt so elated to bite the damn cat to _death_. It was there, that sweet moment of victory, that minute of ecstasy upon the taste of warm, living blood, the sound of bones breaking and of confused screeches and cries. He’d later call it just dessert, when he was old enough to know the term, and now, by just recalling that terribly morbid memory, he felt so empowered that yes, he had snuffed a life with his own bare hands.

“ _Hibari_! _Hibari_!”

Two black, beady eyes staring at him, a sharp triangle of orange tilting slightly as yellow wings stretched and flapped, Hibird hopped from one foot to another.

“ _Hibari_! _Hibari_!” It cried again, and he couldn’t help but smile at the bird affectionately, a finger poking its round, fluffy tummy. The bird replied his affection with a peck on the finger, and he couldn’t help it even more to cup the ball of fluff, lips touching its feathery head before depositing it back onto his pillows. Finally, he left from the bed, preparing himself for another day of beating that stupid Bucking Horse until every bone shattered under the power of his tonfas.

*

They were back at the forest again, dancing intricately, drops of sweat flying as leather and steel sliced the air; a bloody dance of death. The Cavallone was back to being a herbivore, hiding his strength behind his weapon, and he wouldn’t really bother much at all if only the hidden strength behind each blow wouldn’t drive him frustrated.

The mere fact that the Cavallone was toying with him was infuriating enough he delivered the next blow right on Cavallone’s left jaw, warm blood splashing against the steel of his tonfa and the dead leaves crunched by the soles of their shoes. He could smell it; the scent of fresh blood dealt. He wanted more, more of it. Intoxicating; he’s being intoxicated by the scent of blood, like a vampire being tempted by an outstretched neck. He wanted nothing else but to sink his teeth into that Cavallone bastard’s neck and rip off his throat and watch him bleed to death.

Leather whip lashed his right cheek then his thighs. Stunned, he was thrown face forward against soil and dried leaves. It was harder to get back up, and it was harder even more to remain on one knee as his legs cried out in pain, blood flowing out of his body in abandon. The whip wrapped around his wrists, pulling him back to sanity—well, as much as he still had of.

Kyoya had to recheck his state of mind from the shock. Cavallone had his whip stretched taut, both hands on the whip as blood trailed down from a split lip. The almost frightening frown on Cavallone’s face made him grin smugly, not that he’d admit the idiot could bring out such an emotion no matter the efforts.

“Damn, Kyoya. What’s gotten into you?” The stupid Bucking Horse asked, not even realizing that he’d risen to his knees, and soon, he’ll rise back up to his feet and it _will_ be Cavallone on the ground, bitten to death. Kyoya simply gave him another feral grin before yanking the whip really hard. He didn’t let his disappointment show though when Cavallone didn’t budge, grunting only in response to the harsh comeback. At least the whip had uncoiled around his wrists—only to return again with vengeance against his skin, cutting off the blood circulation.

“Subjecting yourself to carnal instincts in a fight will only lead you to defeat, Kyoya.”

Kyoya growled in response. He didn’t need to be taught by an idiot like Cavallone.

He gritted his teeth as the whip wrapped tightly around a tonfa, rooting him to his spot. Cavallone never used the word death or kill when he’s talking to him, he had realized subconsciously. He’d always taunt and gaud him, and somehow, hearing that particular word coming from this stupid foreigner’s mouth always echoed and rang scornfully inside his head for hours until he managed to picture the perfect image of a dead and bloody Cavallone, personally bitten to death.

“If you keep doing it, you’re no better of a herbivore than I am.”

“Shut _up_ , herbivore.” He wrenched the last word out forcefully, throwing it at stupid Cavallone’s face, making sure it’ll stab the blonde at home. He let the tonfa’s grip slip from his palm, and before Cavallone could pull back or sidestep him, he ran forward and smashed its twin hard against Cavallone’s stomach, pulling out a harsh gasp from the man.

“Now who’s the herbivore?”

And he relished it even more when another grunt answered him before Cavallone stepped back and gave him his own space.

“You just can’t understand it, can you?”

Hibari Kyoya frowned, and frowned some more at the seriousness taking place in Cavallone’s stupid, sunny eyes.

“A frog in the well knows not about the ocean, Kyoya.”

Rage sparked inside of him like a fire suddenly lighted by flints, like the sudden flash of a lightning. This _foreigner_ has no rights to tell him such.

“Shut up, _Cavallone_.”

“Someone will always—”

Shut up.

“Stronger than—”

_Shut up_. Hibari Kyoya _is not—_

_“You’re just a weak, little boy. Why don’t you cry for help now, damn brat!”_

He’s not—

_“What’s wrong? You’re all whines and barks after all! Couldn’t even bite! Weak, weak, weak!”_

No, no, no, _no_ , he’s _not_.

“Kyoya…”

_“Bwaha! Weak, little boy is going to cry!”_

“I’M NOT _WEAK_!”

The trees shook, the earth quaked. That stupid Cavallone’s brown eyes were wide with shock, as shocked as his right-hand man was. Crows cawed and dead leaves rustled, their dried veins protruding from the otherwise smooth surface. Tiny details, all of them. They weren’t as obvious as the thundering roar of rushing blood in his head, and then suddenly, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw in any air and he just _couldn’t_ do anything but stay there, wherever he was, clutching his own body as if he’s about to drown, which he might now that he’s thinking about it, hazy memories coming back to life as each second ticked past.

“Kyoya!”

Cold, so cold. Why is it so cold? Damn it. Why can’t he move? These were his entire fault., that stupid _herbivore_. He should’ve bitten him to death when he had the chance. He should’ve killed him with just one strike back at the rooftop.

“Don’t touch me!” He screamed and lashed out with all his rage, with all his hatred until he couldn’t even support his own weight, couldn’t even lift his head and see just how dark and worried that stupid Bucking Horse’s face was, if those almost amber-brown eyes would turn a shade darker when concerned.

_“Come on, cry for mommy and daddy! Oh, wait. You don’t even have a daddy!”_

He couldn’t think of anything else other than the pain gripping each side of him, of long, forgotten memories disturbed from their sleep, like the still, calm pond’s surface rippled by a single drop of water. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even contain his body’s shivers. How pathetic of him to be reduced to such a weak state, to be held by another with worry.

_“Don’t you run away now, brat! I ain’t done with you yet!”_

It burned. His body burned like scalding fire burning him entirely, melting his skin away, worse than a fever’s fire could ever be. So hot; it’s so hot. He couldn’t take it anymore; it’s too painful, it’s too much.

“Kyoya! Get a hold of yourself!”

Shut up. Just shut up, please. Don’t want this, don’t want anything anymore. Just…

*

He remembered now. He was seven years old when he had seen a man leaving his and his mother’s old, traditional Japanese house, a man he would later know to be his father, a man he would later come to despise then forget altogether. He had only seen his large back and broad, wide shoulders, and the weary smile on his mother’s face. He was just a child then; he couldn’t understand anything on the shades of gray nor read between the lines.

That night, his mother had brought him to a fast food restaurant and had given him a kind of food in the form of meat between two buns, with some slices of that green, leafy thing he hated and something else pulpy and red he had only liked because they were somewhat fleshy and red. He’d later know this as a hamburger, after eating it, and come to like it enough to become his favorite food. Questions about that his mother’s strange visitor was out of his mind then, his seven year-old mind focused simply on the food held by two hands.

And even when his mother told him that man was actually his father, he didn’t look a bit perturbed like what his mother must’ve expected.

“He’s a herbivore. I don’t like herbivores.” He simply told his mother. He liked that word, and the other word too—carnivore. He had read it up in that thick, smelly book he had found at school. Herbivores eat vegetables, and crybabies eat vegetables. Crybabies are weak people, so herbivores are weak people, and he hates weak people. Carnivores hate vegetables, carnivores like to eat meat, and carnivores are strong because they eat the weak ones and turn them into food. He’s a carnivore, because he’s _strong_ , as simple as that.

“I’m going to be the strongest carnivore, and I’m going to beat every one of those herbivores.” He had declared to his mother before he went to sleep, and he remembered then his mother’s amused smile, brushing fine, dark hair from his eyes, lulling him to sleep like any mother would do.

He’d nearly forgotten about his promise, content enough to just listen to his mother’s sweet voice and sleep.

*

He awoke to the sound of familiar tweets he’d almost missed and then ultimately, darkness. Long lashes lifted, fluttering softly as dark eyes slowly took in his surroundings. He felt warm, as if someone was hugging him. When he turned, he realized he _was_ being hugged, and for once, he didn’t do anything short of punching the living lights out of the stupid Bucking Horse. He only elbowed the stubborn idiot, pushing the heavy arm slung carelessly off his body.

“Get off,” he growled. He didn’t want to know how Cavallone managed to survive invading more than just his personal space.

He growled again when warm breath brushed against his cheek, an arm sliding around his waist. He didn’t hesitate anymore to push the stupid blonde off the bed anymore.

“Get off!”

He even kicked him for safety measures.

Great body mass hit the carpeted floor with a loud thud, followed by an annoying wail that tempted him even more to pound that stupid Cavallone’s face with his heel and crunch that stupid nose.

“Kyoya! How could you?! After carrying you all the way over here!”

He glared at stupid Cavallone and scowled darkly. Cavallone shrunk back with a whimper, which didn’t really help his temper at all. Wolf in sheep’s clothing, that’s what this pretentious bastard was. He wondered briefly if it’s even possible to kill someone faster without losing the essence of slow death.

No matter, he’ll bite him to death by the end of the night, the sooner the better. That’s the only reason why he’d agreed to this foolish idea of training. Then he wondered why the stupid Italian didn’t explain why he was brought back to the hotel. Ah, never mind. He’d rather not talk about it himself.

He would’ve gladly given the blonde idiot another kick to the face if Hibird hadn’t moved to perch on his head and sing adorably enough that he shifted his attention to the ball of fluff instead.

“Hey, Kyoya,”

“Shut up.”

“Why do you always dote on that bird?”

A finger paused in mid-air, inches away from a soft, yellow tummy. Hibird pecked on his finger, as if asking why it stopped. Kyoya stared at the ceiling for a while, before dark eyes trailed to the blonde sitting on the floor, the stupid blonde’s chin resting near the edge of the mattress, watching the bird on his head with a—what? A pout?

“Did you know, Kyoya,” the stupid Cavallone continued, not even caring if he’d still have a minute to live. “That birds only approach those with a kind heart?”

“Are you insinuating something, Dino Cavallone?”

A soft chuckle, then a straight gaze directed at him. Those brown eyes were guarded again, Kyoya noted, almost with disappointment.

“That’s the first time you said my name without the herbivore attached, Kyoya.”

He fell silent at that remark, and slowly, he came to realize he actually had been thinking why that stupid Cavallone had said such.

“I wonder, Kyoya, if that’s because you’ve finally realized just how far you could reach in your current state.”

“When will you realize that I had ordered you to shut up?”

“Touché. But at least there’s some improvement, hm?”

Dino Cavallone grinned stupidly—as stupid as his blonde head could get, most definitely.

“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, causing stupid Dino Cavallone perking up with incessant questions. Why can’t he get rid of him?

*

After much punching, flying vases and pillows, and finally, a tonfa’s blunt head to a jaw, Kyoya managed to make Cavallone take the couch. The blonde idiot kept on insisting to sleep on the bed, _with him_ , to ‘further strengthen the bond between the tutor and his student,’ which Kyoya simply answered with a kick to somewhere where it _really_ hurts.

And through all of those bloody ordeals of keeping Cavallone germs from invading his immune system, Hibird stayed on its perch at the headboard, singing the Namimori school anthem—until it broke off mid-tune and sang the most dreadful, most ear-bleeding, and definitely the most stupid song that had ever graced his eardrums. It was even worse than Dino Cavallone’s own level of stupidity.

That was when Kyoya had risked himself to exposure towards the Cavallone virus by pinning him to the couch. He had halted mid-action, body freezing all over as the hold on his tonfa tightened. Even Cavallone’s eyes widened not in fear of further abuse, but of their new battle theme.

“ _Kufufu_! _Kufufu_!” Hibird continued to sing, each syllable rising in pitch.

“Kyoya,” Cavallone stuttered warily, his body rising from the couch to check on the singing bird. Kyoya stayed on his spot, which was Cavallone’s lap. But his lanky frame twisted to the side, dark eyes narrowed at the devil behind his beloved companion.

“He’s possessed, isn’t he?” He heard Cavallone whisper to him. He didn’t hesitate to bash the stupid blonde’s face in though with the butt of a tonfa. There’s no way a high-ranking member of the Disciplinary Committee will fall prey to a devil possession. It’s completely impossible and utterly blasphemous.

“ _Hibari_! _Hibari_!”

Kyoya glared at the bird—or rather, at the evil aura surrounding Hibird. He shifted, ready to leap off the couch until suddenly, everything blacked out, his breath hitching (less than slightly though) and before he could escape, a strong pair of arms wrapped around him, his back hitting a hard chest.

Tonfas fell to the carpeted floor with a soft thud.

“Cavallone—”

“Kufufu…”

His body stilled on its own accord, his mind remembering that damn devil’s touch, the rare moments of being held down, trapped like a doe on headlights, the smell of something sickeningly sweet and floral—

“ _Kyoya_ …”

Callone’s voice was sultry in a way that Kyoya knew it’ll be impossible if Cavallone was conscious himself.

Kyoya struggled and pulled and thrashed as wild as he could, but the body he’s being held against was too strong, the arms stronger. Fists clenching tightly at his sides, he could barely bend his own arms. He could only thrash even wilder, trying to force those arms off his body.

Screw Cavallone’s body, he told himself. It’s not like he cared anyway.

True enough, he didn’t bother to try and jam an elbow or two against Cavallone’s guts because he knew it just _hurts_ , and then he jerked his head up swift enough to hit stupid Cavallone (just how stupid could he get, getting himself possessed by a pineapple from hell?) on the chin.

He almost dived to the floor when he felt rather than heard the possessed Cavallone’s howl of pain; he knew someone had bitten his own tongue, and Kyoya’s glad he had caused it. Pity though he didn’t personally bite it off himself.

“Kufufu… Kyo—”

He didn’t hear the end of his name, flat, cold steel drawing a fountain of blood and breaking bones, the sound of adrenaline rushing too loud in his ears as he panted, chest heaving. Blood was everywhere, splatters of it staining his arm, the fist clutching the tonfa’s handle, his cheeks, his pajamas, and that stupid Cavallone’s face should be ruined now, a huge bloody crater in the middle. He had made sure to smash the tonfa’s blunt edge straight on his nose. He will consider it a huge mystery if Cavallone’s face would still be perfectly Adonis after this. After all, he had been constantly beating up that face almost every hour of his waking moment lately with much fervor.

It was only his harsh breathing that kept the still silence from being completely encompassing. Cavallone must’ve passed out—no, he _must_ be passed out. He didn’t hold back a single strength (not that he makes a habit of it) in that strike, didn’t even spare a thought for his so-called tutor’s health.

A what felt like a minute turned to five, then ten, and finally, after twenty minutes of complete silence and screaming aching muscles, Kyoya lowered his arms, resting them on his sides as he slowly, cautiously, approached Cavallone’s bloody body on the couch. Hibird had gone completely silent as well.

With a twirl of a tonfa, he used its butt and poked Cavallone softly on the cheek, as if inspecting a dead horse. He frowned at that thought. Cavallone can’t be dead from just a bite of the tongue. He wasn’t even the one who bit him.

When the body didn’t move, his muscles only agitated and his annoyance rose. Before he knew it, he was kicking Cavallone again, on the sides, stomach, arms, just anywhere he could reach. If he had been yelling and crying out that stupid Bucking Horse’s name, he didn’t know. All he knew was that strange, uncustomary grab on his heart, tugging it slightly until it became a harsh pull that he sucked in a deep breath, only to choke on it.

What’s going on? Was that stupid pineapple from hell trying to enter his mind? No, it can’t be. He’s too strong for that, too invincible for that.

No, this feeling was something else. It was too foreign, too alien, yet why did it feel familiar, despite all that?

_“Someone will always be stronger than you.”_

His eyes widened. Shut up, Cavallone. Only herbivores would say that, because herbivores need lame excuses for their pathetic lives. Herbivores should just stay as herbivores and wait for a carnivore to come around and eat them up, so no one have to hear their sad stories and whimpers, so they don’t have to crowd around anyone anymore. So they don’t have to crowd around him anymore and remind him he had been just like them, a long time ago.

_“How would you like it, kid? Do you wanna die like her?”_

His heart beat wildly. There _is_ someone stronger than him, but he _will_ rectify that. There will be no one he could never defeat, no one he could not prove himself superior to.

_“Or maybe you wanna be a lonely, little kid, all by yourself.”_

*

He remembered now—his mother’s smile. Pale lips stretched on a paler face, sharp, almond-shaped eyes sparkling in mirth as the corner of her lips quirked, revealing pearl-white teeth. Her smile was always warm; it always spoke of something that would lift the heavy veil on his heart. Even when her lips were as red as the pool of blood she was laying on, even when she had already taken the train ride to Somewhere without leaving him a note, her smile was still so warm like sun-kissed.

_“It’s alright, Kyoya. I’m not going anywhere without you.”_

He saw a child standing not so far from him, a child so frail with the messiest black hair and the most apathetic face. There was a river of bright, cold blood, as still as frozen ice, and the only sound he could hear came from the steady dripping of red, a rivulet of it sliding from the razor edge of a kitchen knife to the tip, turning into a lingering droplet before splattering onto the void ground with a loud roar.

_“Kyoya, it’s alright to be afraid.”_

_“I’m not!”_

How many times had he told himself that? How long had it been since he admitted defeat?

He scoffed lightly. He shouldn’t be asking himself that. It didn’t matter how many defeats he had denied or accepted. Those defeats would always be overwritten by his victories. Such a question is unacceptable to Hibari Kyoya, because no matter how brute the force or how cunning the mind can be, the cloud can never be dispersed.

“Hey, Kyoya,”

Dark, barely onyx eyes stared widely at a pair of warm amber ones.

“Just when are you going to really bite me to death?”

Stupid Cavallone was grinning at him, that Adonis face so perfect, blonde hair so gold. There wasn’t a speck of blood present. He’s standing in that stupid posture of his, just like when they first met at the rooftop, shoulders hunched as both hands were stuffed inside his pockets, the fur lining of his dark green jacket’s hood creating a strange mane behind his head. What the hell is this moronic idiot doing here?

“I can’t keep my promise to you, Kyoya, if you’re not going to get stronger.” Cavallone finally said. His eyes… they were warm. He could feel those warm gazes like a stream of water that soothed tired, sore muscles after so many days of labor…

So much like his mother’s smile that would always make him feel warm all over and calm and _loved_ , whatever that word is, even when he’s being taunted and threatened and choking on his own blood-thirst, on his first kill.

Cavallone disappeared as the boy turned his head, and Kyoya saw a pair of empty, soulless eyes staring at him, _into_ him.

_“Stop staring at me like that… Stop staring at me like that!”_

The boy turned his body, and Kyoya felt his breath hitched. This feeling—he had felt it before. This unnamable feeling; he saw it in this boy. And he saw it in himself, reflected by those empty eyes.

_“Monster! Stay away from me!”_

“I’ll bite you to death,” he heard the boy lifelessly said, voice still so young, still so innocent behind the murderous threat, bloody knife on hand glinting dangerously. This kind of feeling, this sudden beating of the heart, this difficulty to breathe, to think, to move, this paralysis—he had felt this before, more than once, must be twice.

_“No! NO! Murderer! Murderer!”_

A whirlwind of soft, pink petals flurried in between him and the boy, the nonexistent wind carrying the sakura’s delectable fragrance. He stood there, waiting with bated breath for that sudden lost of body controls, the ebbing of his strength.

But nothing happened. He stood there, and for the first time, Kyoya succumbed himself to the truth of it.

He had been afraid from the very start, and he was _frightened_ of being afraid. This different kind of fear, the kind wherein he was completely helpless, unable to turn back time and keep everything from ending, from letting the blade fall and the head roll, from leaving him in solitude; he had been afraid of it, and knowing there will be a day when everything will end without him, it scared him.

And it still scares him now, after so many years of pushing the very thought of it to the farthest recesses of his mind.

_“A frog in the well knows not about the ocean, Kyoya.”_

What now, Kyoya?

*

He opened his eyes. The hotel room’s light was on, and a Dino Cavallone was fussing over him so bad he would’ve bitten off that damn nose off if only he hadn’t felt so sluggish. Something must be wrong with the order of the universe. This stupid, blonde, moronic, Italian fiend shouldn’t still be alive after all those damage he received today.

“You should be dead.”

“You have no idea how scared I was!”

He blinked, dark eyes startled by the declaration.

“Cavallone…”

“I thought you were dying but Romario said you just fainted but you’re all covered in blood and—”

“Shut up. You’re the one who should be dead right now.”

“Well, I happen to be too almighty for crazy demon spawns.”

Silence, a long string of it, until Dino released a loud, heavy sigh before dropping a hand on his head, fingers bigger than his treading black strands of hair.

“At least you’re all right now. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back anymore, not when I’m around.” Dino said, his voice so soft it startled Kyoya even more. There was a smile on Dino’s face, a stretch of lips that quirked on the corners…

“Dino…”

And he realized it too late of what he had been thinking and finally said. Dino was staring at him wildly now, probably too speechless to think of something to say. Then again, Kyoya himself was at a loss of words.

There _was_ something wrong with the order of the universe.

The silence returned, and this time, it’s awkward and neither of them knew how to break it. For the first time, Kyoya felt like someone, _thought_ like someone else—and he didn’t mind, not even a bit.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour of complete, awkward silence, stupid Dino just smiled and ruffled his hair, and now, Kyoya could notice the patches of darkening bruises scattered all over that perfect face.

He’s still weak right now, at this very point of his life, this much he’ll admit. But one day, he’s going to be strong—the strongest, if possible—and strong enough to withstand every trial Fate decides to throw at him. And when Death decides to knock on his doorsteps, he’ll just smash his tonfa home, right where it hurts.


End file.
